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1888 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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POEMS 



BY 



ANNA OLCOTT COMMELIN 



'* Have I done worthy work ? be Love's the praise." 







NEW YORK 
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY 

38 WEST TWENTY-THIRD ST, 
1888 







,B^^ 



COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY 
ANNA OLCOTT COMMELIN. 



PRESS OF 

EDWARD p. JENKINS' SONS, 
NEW yORK. 



TO 

THE BEAUTIFUL MEMORY 

OF 

ONE WHO GAVE LOVING APPRECIATION AND KINDLY 

CRITICISM, 

^iis HLittlt J3flofe 

IS DEDICATED. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Spirits Twain 7 

MuRiLLo's Magdalene 9 

Undine 10 

Questioning 12 

Where is God ? 14 

Nathaniel Hawthorne 16 

Isolation 17 

The Melody r .... 20 

Sic Itur ad Astra 22 

Morn and Eve at Kaaterskill 23 

A Christmas Carol 24 

A Woman's Choice . 27 

Down and Up 35 

The Artist's Search for Beauty ...... 37 

GrALATEA 45 

In Memoriam 46 

To Mrs. E. T. Brockway 48 

To Mrs. Wing 60 

Faces 52 

Atmospheres . 54 

When Spring-time Cometh On 58 



SPIEITS TWAIN. 

Through paths unfrequented, 
AH noiselessly and as the lightning fleet, 
By airy fancy or by sweet charm led, 

We pass, on winged feet. 

By day aloft we soar 
Piercing the heaven^s limitless blue dome. 
By night, its glittering, starry splendors o'er, 

Close, closer still we roam. 

Then to the sapphire sea, 
Where liquid emeralds and rubies glow, 
Down into coral depths and treasures we 

Close, close together go. 

Sometimes a darker spell 
From saddest memory lures us with its trend. 
Past the dark cypress, in the yew-tree dell, 

Where over graves we bend. 



8 Spirits Twain. 

We heed nor bolt nor bar. 
But enter at our will the palace gate. 
With no credentials, but as guests from far : 

We neither stand nor wait. 

Close, close, how close we cling ! 
Nor marriage rite, nor thou, oh child most dear, 
Nor friend, long-tried and ever true, can bring 

Soul unto soul so near. 

Yes, where have we not been. 
On land, on sea, on cloud or sunny sky ? 
What places dark, what spots so fair we've seen, 

My thought, my thought and I ! 



Murillds Magdalene, 



MUEILLO'S MAGDALENE. 

I GAZE upon thy soul-lit eyes upturned, 

And oft I marvel that Murillo's grace. 

In holy thought and holy musing learned, 

Conceived the wondrous beauty of thy face. 

What glow of sacred genius in him burned. 

No stain of earth upon thy brow I trace. 

Was face of mortal ever seen so fair ? 

Was face of mortal ever seen so sweet ? 

Lies on thy neck, unbound, thy flowing hair. 

Which dried, with golden threads, thy Master's feet. 

Methinks those eyes, which saw thy risen Lord, 

Have held the glory in them evermore. 

And high above all earthly thoughts they soar 

To dwell in Heaven and see the things of God ! 



lo Undine, 



UNDINE. 

In all romance's fairy land 
No brighter form, I ween, 
Created is by poet's wand, 
Than thine, oh, sweet Undine, 
With hair of gold, with airy grace. 
With girlish form and winsome face. 

Thou'rt kin to every living thing 
By nature given birth, 
To birds with songs and caroling. 
And varying shapes of earth ; 
Thyself, a form all joy and light. 
Art near to wood and water sprite. 

And though the poet's fond ideal 
Has given thee living form. 
Thou art a type of all things real 
In life aglow and warm. 



Undine, 1 1 

Each human form, each human heart 
In nature's all is but a part. 
And kin to all things here are we, 
To bird and plant and fawn and tree. 

And like the fawn or water-sprite 

Or idle wind that blows, 

With merry prank and spirits light 

Thy happiness overflows ; 

At one with nature's every mood 

Thou findest friends in stream and wood. 

But when a soul in thee is born 
With care and thought opprest, 
Then love and life mysterious dawn 
With sadness and unrest ; 
And kin to bird and fawn, I ween, 
Akin thou art to forms unseen. 



12 Questioning, 



QUESTIONING. 

My little bird within his cage is singing 

His gay, sweet song ; 
With joyous melody the room is ringing 

The wliole day long. 

Beyond his gilded cage he has no dreaming. 

His all, his home : 
No care beside e'er shades his happy seeming. 

No wish to roam. 

But when I ope his cage and bid him enter 

The mansion wide. 
Where rooms and halls diverge as from a centre 

On every side, 

He mutely stands to turn and gaze and wonder 

At space so vast: 
Relations old and sense secure asunder 

Are rent at last. 



Questioning, 13 

So when, with midnight's radiance streaming o'er us, 

From earth we gaze 
To worlds on worlds and spaces vast before us, 

Our thoughts we raise, — 

We mutely stand to gaze with awe and longing 

Upon the sky. 
Where suns and stars and planets fair are thronging 

In majesty : — 

Where ends creation ? where is its beginning ? 

Is our refrain : 
From the dread silences no answer winning— 

We ask in vain. 



14 Where is God? 



WHEEE IS GOD? 

I CANNOT think upon the life hereafter. 
And see the Father, throned in majesty, 
I cannot make the image of His presence, 
JSTor shape the thought of blessedness to be. 

I cannot think of souls in sorrow lying 

For error here to suffer still for aye. 

While brothers, kindred, friends, in spheres' celestial, 

As happy spirits rest beyond the sky. 

Nor can I picture God ! I cannot fathom 
The mystery, the nature of His power. 
Whose laws sublime, the universe controlling. 
Rule suns and worlds and systems hour by hour. 

But I can see His work in every flower, 
In every daisy, every violet blue. 
In every form of life, from clod upspringing, 
To laws divine, obedient and true. 



Where is God? 15 

Still more in human hearts ! we love the beauty 
Our eyes drink in by mountain and by sea. 
We feel His power in evening sunsets golden. 
We love the flowers that bloom upon the lea. 

But more, still more in noble deeds and loving 
Of human souls, whose virtues radiant shine. 
We see the Power within, the Power mysterious, 
The Power in all, through all, the Power Divine. 



1 6 Nathaniel Hawthorne, 



NATHANIEL HAWTHOKNE. 

Oh, rare, fine spirit, from the silent land, 

ISTo message cometli, e'en from sucli as thou, 

Who bore on earth a potent, magic wand, 

Wielded with delicate and fairy hand. 

Yet art thou ever with us still, I trow, 

In minds spell-bound by thy creations now, 

Who sprang to being by thy souFs command. 

We call thee dead, but we who live can find 

No way to send a token slight to thee, 

Whilst thou, with insight keen and matchless power^ 

Charmeth, through all life's round, the weary mind, 

'Tis thou who livest ! still thy witchery 

Falleth on us with precious, golden dower. 



Isolation, 1 7 



ISOLATION. 

A YOUNG soul sought to wander from the path 

Where trod her mates. " Oh, come," she said to these, 

" Into some new, broad way, where open out 

More light and freedom, where the secrets strange 

Of life and death, and mystery of birth 

May be revealed. The milestones, worn and old 

And time-stained, on the narrow, beaten road, 

I read not." But they would not follow her. 

" Stay with us," they said, " the path is narrow 

And no view on either side. The hedges 

Dense shut oflE the vista wide, but many feet 

Have trod the road, and found their peace at last — 

Thy fathers and our fathers and our friends, — 

And at the end is certainty and rest." 

She asked no more, but softly to herself 

She said, "My love will climb those heights with 

me," 
And, ere the honeymoon had waned, she led 
His willing feet out to the open way 



1 8 Isolation. 

Where winds blew fresh and free, and sunny skies 
Had charmed her sight. " I breathe, at length," she 

said, 
As, hand in hand, they wandered on to seek 
The upland path. And sense of freedom first 
Exultant filled their hearts, and new-found joy 
That larger prospect grand might be revealed. 
But by and by, when they had wandered far, 
And sat upon the greensward, side by side, 
He said, '' Here let us rest, nor farther seek. 
Content with love and this fair scene below, 
Nor follow out the dizzy path beyond : 
Already thorns have pierced thy tender fiesh." 
" 'Tis beautiful," she said, '' but fain would I 
Go on with thee until my questionings 
May find reward, more light, more certainty 
Of all the bright beyond." '^ 'Tis far enough," 
He said, " the path grows rough and steep, and on 
Forever mayest thou go, nor understand 
More clear than now." So down the mountain slope 
They took their way. The years sped swiftly on. 
And children sweet made glad their hearth-stone 

warm : 
But oft she thought upon the mountain view, 



Isolation, 19 

And longed to see. Too thorny was the road 

For little feet. She could not take them there ; 

But oft to friends she spoke of her desire, 

And one would say, " I go part way with thee ": 

And one, " Thou goest far : it is not meet 

For any " : and yet another, " Seek not 

What lies beyond that dizzy height at all." 

But most said, " Safer is the olden road : 

Return, ere it is yet too late for thee." 

But once her longing mastered all her fears, 

And on she sped beyond the thorny steep. 

And up the heights she pressed, with bleeding feet. 

To see no limit to the vast beyond, 

Life, death, and mystery of being yet 

All unrevealed ! Night cometh on apace. 



20 The Melody. 



THE MELODY. 

Oh, solemnly and slow 
Those deep, bass notes are sounding, 
Those deep, bass notes are sounding. 

So solemnly and slow : 
While harsher chords revealing 
Sad dissonance of feeling, 
With wail, like miserere, follow the music low. 

But list ! above the strain, 
In clearest, liquid sweetness, 
In clearest, liquid sweetness. 

Far up above the strain 
An angel voice is singing, 
A melody is ringing : 
On spirit wings our souls to heaven mount with its 
pure refrain. 



How like it is to life ! 
The solemn music throbbing. 
The solemn music throbbing, 



The Melody. 21 

How like it is to life ! 
With chords of sadness thrilling, 
With dissonances filling 
Onr souls with wail of sorrow, with mortal anguish 
rife. 

But catch the strain above. 
Sweet strain divine and holy, 
Sweet strain divine and holy. 

Ah, catch that strain above ! 
One joy receiving, giving, 
Makes all life has in living. 
The melody we hear through all, sweet strain of hu- 
man love ! 



22 Sic Itur ad Astra. 



SIC ITUE AD ASTRA. 

Follow, with single aim, thine upward way, 

Nor stoop earth's dreary monotone to know, 

Its sordid undercurrent, dark and low : 

But onward, scaling still some height each day. 

In majesty serene as morn of May, 

Ne'er heeding whispers subtle of thy foe. 

Nor fairest praise, with motive base below, 

Sing thine own song and chant thy heart's own lay. 

Then, to a fellowship with spirits great. 

Whose souls in affluence of thought commune. 

More regal pomp than purpled livery, 

Than jewelled sheen or panoply of state. 

Thy soul, in harmony and finer tune 

With kings and queens of realms of thought shall be ! 



Morn a?id Eve at KaaterskilL 23 



MOKN AND EVE AT KAATEKSKILL. 

What doth the morn show at Kaatersldll % 
Landscape of mountain and valley and stream. 
Lofty peak, verdant plain, and the far distant hill, 
Fairer than artist's or poet's fond dream, 
Aurora, resplendent, capricious in sway. 
With azure or mist will she greet us to-day ? 
Bluest skies, tender hues, fleecy clouds she may show 
While she drapes, with light vapor, the valley below. 

What doth the eve bring to Kaaterskill ? 

Far away over Round Top's violet breast, 

In the day's decline, oft she paints at will 

A glory of color and flame in the west. 

Ere night shall succeed her, in jewelled array. 

With tints of the rainbow she passeth away ; 

But the mountain, the hill-top, the valley, the plain, 

Enchained by her beauty, reflect it again. 



24 A Christmas Carol. 



A CHRISTMAS CAEOL. 

Sing a song of Christmas : 
Sing of joy and cheer : 
Ring the happy anthem : 
Christmas day is here. 

What if winds are blowing, 
What if, in the air, 
Gather fleecy snowflakes 
Falling everywhere ; — 

If, o'er all earth's bosom. 
Soft and smooth and light. 
Winter spreads her garment, 
Bridal dress of white. 

What if leaves have vanished, 
What if trees are bare, 
Ermine robe and jewels 
Richer are and rare. 



A Christmas Carol, 25 

If, o'er all the country, 
Icy cold the dawn. 
Sing the Christmas carol, 
Hail to Christmas morn ! 

Yes, e'en though the weather 
Cold and colder grow, 
In our homes the yule-logs 
Bright and brighter glow. 

Christmas song and story, 
Christmas feast and cheer, 
Ring the happy joy-bells, 
Day of all the year ! 

"Weave the Christmas garland. 
Bind the mistletoe. 
Holly leaves and berries : — 
Lay the hemlocks low. 

Day when Eastern wise men 
Sought the humble shed. 
And before the Christ-child 
Lowly bowed the head. 



26 A Christinas Carol, 

Wisest men and women. 
Wisest ones are they 
Who, to little children. 
Give their hearts to-day. 

' Day for fond remembrance. 
When, from far and near, 
Speeds the wish and greeting : 
Christmas day is here ! 

Sweet the olden story, 
" On earth peace : good- will ": 
Words of benediction 
Linger with us still. 

Blessed words and tender 
For the Christmas-tide : 
In our hearts forever 
May their peace abide ! I . 

Sing a song of Christmas ! 
Sing of joy and cheer ; 
Sonnd the pealing anthem : 
Christmas day is here ! 



A Woman s Choice, 27 



A WOMAN'S CHOICE. 

Was I dreaming, was I waking, when the cares of day 

were o'er, 
In the twilight, when the firelight glowed and shim- 
mered on the floor, 
Was it art of necromancer, fairy spell, or wizard's 

power 
That enthralled my vagrant spirit in that dusk of 

evening hour ? 
Sooth I know not : I was weary, weary of the cares of 

day. 
Longing for some flight of fancy, tired of work and 

tired of play. 
And I sighed, oh fair enchantress, bring to me thy 

magic spell. 
Lift the clouds that veil the ages, and their hidden 

secrets tell. 
Find me romance, bring me visions, lives of women 

show to me. 
Plain as artist paints the picture on the canvas that I 

see. 



28 A Womatis Choice. 

I5 a woman, with a woman's ardent brain and throb- 
bing heart, 

Crave to know of lives of women, by thy weird, 
potential art. 

Of the noble, of the stately, which to me may fairest 
seemj 

While they pass and act before me, in my vivid, wak- 
ing dream. 

Mists and vapors rise and gather, all around are clouds 
like fleece, 

]^ow they part and clear before me, and I stand in 
ancient Greece. 

Brilliant Athens, rarest genius owes to thee its favored 
birth, 

Eegal in thy proud possessions, thou art famed o'er all 
the earth. 

Yonder mansion I will enter, noiselessly I pass the 
door. 

Heavy with its purple hangings to the rich, mosaic 
floor. 

Sofas, divans, fringed and scarlet, tempt the weary to 
recline. 

While, through bronzed and latticed windows, streams 
the sun in golden line. 



A Woman s Choice, 29 

Laden is the air with perfume, from the flower-beds, — 
the while 

Wait we for the dweUing's mistress, — here, within the 
peristyle, 

Yision graceful, thou Aspasia, dost thou live a charmed 
life. 

Sought by wisest for thy learning, yet beloved best as 
wife? 

Noble art thou in thy beauty, tall, with auburn, curl- 
ing hair. 

In thy snowy tunic girdled, suiting well thy features 
fair. 

Purple robe, embroidered richly, slender ankles, sandal- 
led feet. 

All combine to make a picture for an artist's fancy 
meet. 

Galaxy of splendor round thee, artists, sculptors, men 
most sage, 

Scholars, students flock for converse with thee in this 
golden age — 

But a shadow falleth on thee, envy, hatred, bitter 
strife. 

Wizard, take away the picture! I would choose 
another life ! 



30 A Woinans Choice, 

Fading, fading is fair Athens, temples, walls, and shin- 
ing seats. 
And anon a different landscape, smiling, all my vision 

greets, 
Hills and valleys, brooks and fountains, fruit-trees, 

fields of fl:owers red, 
Golden cornfields, rustling, swaying to the gleaner's 

eager tread. 
Ruth, to Mara as a daughter, strong in thy affection's 

dower. 
With the reapers, in the harvest, gleaning till the 

evening hour — 
Eloquent as song of poet, sweeter than thy charm of 

face, 
Thrill thy words adown the ages, mother of a mighty 

race ! 
Fond entreaty, while it lingers, ere its gentle echo 

dies, 
Lo, a form of Grecian beauty stands before my startled 

eyes. 
Small of stature, fine of feature, dazzling fair Egyptian 

queen, 

She who won the love of Caesar, by her witchery, I 
ween. 



A Woman s Choice. 31 

By her subtlety and learning, and the potence of her 

charm, 
By her voice like strains of music, falling on the ear 

like balm. 
Back, oh radiant Cleopatra, into time's dull Lethe, 

back. 
All that's fairest, all that's finest, in thy affluence, thou 

dost lack. 
Now before me regal, royal, meet two women, face to 

face, 
One with haughty brow and bearing, pallid one, but 

full of grace. 
One who cherished England's glory, but with jealous, 

cruel spleen. 
One who conquered by her beauty and her majesty of 

mien : — 
Conquered most by crown of martyr : nobler heroine, 

I trow. 
Must thou find, oh wizard, ere I place my laurels on 

her brow. 
'^What dost crave," replied the wizard, "have not I 

brought forth to thee. 
Royal pomp and pomp of learning, women wise and 

fair to see ? " 



32 A Woman s Choice. 

" Show me yet," I cried, discouraged, " ideal life and 
heart and mind. 

If, in any age and country, one so fair thou yet may- 
est find." 

Shades of evening, how they gather, yet, within the 
twilight' gloom, 

I am conscious of a presence, quiet, thoughtful, in my 
room ; 

One who toiled for slave and freeman, strove for 
wrongs to win redress, 

While she worked, with tireless fingers, — busy little 
Quakeress. 

Useful toil for others' welfare made for her an honored 
lot; 

Many blessed her name and loved it ; f are-thee-well, 
Lucretia Mott. 

Back again across the ocean, wandering o'er the Brit- 
ish isles, 

Through the fragrant English hedge-rows, where a 
landscape fresh beguiles. 

But we need not find her birth-place, yet to know her 
honored name. 

Poet, author, wisest thinker, world-wide in her self- 
made fame. 



A Woman s Choice. 33 

" Choir invisible," all glorious, had she writ but this 

alone, 
To the coming generations should her name be loved 

and known. 
Cold, bleak winds come sweeping o'er me, densest 

clouds are passing by. 
As I tread the heathered moorland, 'neath a leaden 

Yorkshire sky ; 
And I see a low, stone building, with an ancient 

churchyard near. 
Where, though dreary all the aspect, life itself is yet 

more drear. 
Only genius's alembic, from such life could e'er 

distill 
Joy to others, so that, dying, in our hearts she liveth 

still. 
But a brighter picture wooes me, bids me yet again to 

roam. 
Shows me Tuscan scenes, — fair Florence, — fairer still 

a light of home. 
Casa Guidi, — there I see her, — slender, fragile English 

flower. 
All too fragile, yet in spirit blessed with richest, rarest 

dower. 



34 -^ Woman s Choice, 

With a heart for all who sufler, with a poet's gift of 

song, 
With a pen of lambent fire wielded ever 'gainst the 

wrong, 
Yet more beautiful, — ^more lovely, — in her home and 

in her life, 
Happy less with " nations praising " than with crown 

of mother — wife, — 
Wizard, thou hast found, by searching, one for all my 

praises meet, 
The laurel wreath, — this flower of thought, — I lay 

them at her feet ! 



Down and Up, 35 



DOWN AND UP. 

Low in the vale the mists hang cold and gray, 
The sparkling, winding river lost to view. 
The trees, the oaks and maples that I knew 
Shrouded in film of darkness all the day : 
Yapors and clonds alone before my eyes, 
Where, at the mountain's base, the hamlet lies. 

But up, far up, where rises peak on peak, 
In solemn grandeur stretching to the sky. 
Where tower Franconia'S stately summits high, 
A glow from Heaven shows to those who seek ; 
Transfiguring the rugged mountain's height. 
Crowning its purpled shades with sunset light. 

Down in the dusty street I hear the sound 
Of discord, and the tread of tired feet, 
Weary and fevered with the pavement's heat. 
And all the restless toil that makes life's round : 
Like monochrome the outlook, stone on stone, 
Vista unvaried, greets the eye alone. 



36 Down and Up, 

But up, from window high, a world I know 
Of budding elms, and swaying branches green, 
And myriad interlacing boughs between 
Fair openings that the blue of Heaven show : 
No sound save chirp and song of happy bird, 
And winged fluttering aloft is heard. 

Once, in a darkened room, at dusk of day, 
From mullioned window came a beam of light, 
Falling alone on marble statue white, 
Bathing its noble face in sunset ray. 
In golden glory on the shaded room. 
Serene it shone above the twilight gloom, 
Like soul that knows the troubled scenes below. 
But dwells aloft in Heaven's celestial glow ! 



The Artisfs Search for Beauty, 37 



THE ARTIST'S SEARCH FOR BEAUTY. 

The artist, young Francesco, had a soul 

Athirst for beauty, in what form soe'er 

He found it. Born beneath Italian skies 

Where countless charms of nature ministered, 

And filled his senses keen with rare delight, 

He lived in sights and dreams of loveliness, — 

In azure skies, and ocean's changing hues, 

In lights and shades upon the mountain sides, 

In feathery palms and fragrant orange trees 

Most sweet at night-fall, and in thousand forms ' 

Of flowers fair, delighting every sense, 

Forget-me-nots and blue anemones, 

Rosemary, sweet-briar, yellow daffodils, 

In these he found communion and delight. 

And when he looked for some pursuit in life, 

ITo commonplace or mercenary one 

Would please him, but to make some form, some shape 

Of beauty, that might be a "joy for aye" 

Was his intent : and then to Florence he 



38 The Artisfs Search for Beauty, 

Wended his way, to study works of art. 

And there, within the Tuscan capital. 

Enriched with noblest, rarest work of man, 

What forms and shapes of loveliness he saw 

In grand cathedral, Brunei leschi's Dome, 

And Angelo's embodiments divine, 

Ghiberti's wondrous " Gates of Paradise," 

And Santa Croce, where, with reverent awe. 

He read the names of all the honored dead. 

Then ardent longing kindled all his soul 

To shrine some thought within a sculptured form, 

To fasten in Carrara block some shape 

Of haunting beauty, effluence divine 

Of all his life and thought, dream of his dreams. 

That should remain while generations passed, 

And shed a halo on Francesco's name. 

Then deep in mythologic lore he plunged. 

And stored his mind with rarest poetry, 

And toiled for years with marble and with clay. 

Till, in the fresh meridian of his life. 

Renown and honor Florence gave to him. 

Then married he the gentle Angela, 

Fair girl, with eyes like Parma violets, 

And loved the tender beauty in her face. 



The Artist's Search for Beauty. 39 

The bappy months sped on, their home made bright 
With hght of love, and love of all things fair. 
How quick the days passed by with Angela 
To cheer and stimulate Francesco's toil ! 

The shapeless stones before him came to life 
In forms of beauty. Yet before him still 
He saw a vision of diviner mould — 
The figure of "Italia," in whose face 
He meant to set the look of Angela 
Idealized, in which rare master-piece 
He would embody all his love for her. 
For Italy, his country, and for art. 
A happy year was that, with heart at rest, 
With earnest toil, with pleasant twilight strolls 
On the broad Ponte, in the evenings cool. 
Or to see Giotto's work against the sky, 
The slender, airy, graceful Campanile ; 
And on the festa days, with happy throngs, 
To wander in the warm, transparent air. 
But when the year had flown, Angela too 
Had left him, leaving but an infant frail. 
Ere yet his master-piece was quite complete. 
It lacked expression. In its soulless face, 



40 The Artisfs Search for Beauty. 

No look of Angela, though features fair 

It had. And she was gone ! Gone from his life ! 

The wailing child, in old Teresa's care. 

Soothed not his grief, and all things he had loved 

Were valueless. He wandered up and down 

The rooms now void, for lack of one so dear. 

His dreary studio, the marble form 

Unfinished, only fired his heated brain 

To madness. Weeks and months passed by. 

His chisel idle. Then, in wild carouse. 

He sought to drown remembrance of his grief. 

One night he threw himself upon his bed, 

In fitful slumber. In the darkened room, 

A sudden radiance streamed of moonbeams pale. 

And, in its light, his eyes, half-opened, saw 

Strange forms and shapes, and, listening, he heard 

Sweet melody and voices soft, and words : 

" Come away ! come away ! 
Leave this f roward child of clay ! 

Far from every care of earth. 
Thy freed soul shall find new birth. 

Leave him now ! on his brow 
Press thy lips, but do not wake him. 



The Artisfs Search for Beauty, 41 

ITow so nigh, one soft sigh, 
Then away, and aye forsake him." 

" Yet a little, little longer, 
I must linger, I must tarry, 
Else a weary, weary burden 
Back to heaven I shall carry. 
How to heaven can I go, 
"When my heart is here below % " 

Then Francesco saw a phantom 
Of surpassing beauty rise ; 
All its earthly looks transfigured. 
Yet with sad and tear-stained eyes. 
Round about the broad, white brow, 
Asphodels were hanging low. 

Spake the vision : " Thou, Francesco, 
Lovest beauty : in thy heart 
Is the love of all things lovely, 
Formed by nature or by art. 
But one beauty thou dost miss. 
And I came to tell thee this : 



42 The Artisfs Search for Beauty, 

llnderneath thy careless eyes, 
Beauty, sweet, "anfolding, lies. 
Dost thou see my eyelids yet 
Stained with saddest tears, are wet ? 
Beauty nobler yet thou losest 
"When unworthy life thou choosest." 

Then the shape, in air dissolving. 
Faded from his sight away. 
And the room returned to darkness, 
Till the dawning of the day. 

Francesco woke in the gray light of morn, 
The midnight vision filling all his mind 
With thought of Angela, his spirit guest, 
Of beauty wondrous, save those sad-stained eyes. 
Ah, heavenly visitant, could he but catch 
That look unearthly while the phantom fair 
Yet lingered with him, then forevermore 
Those lineaments divine of Angela 
And Italy in that one form would be 
Imprisoned, semblance sweet of all he loved. 
His chisel tlien he seized with eager haste, 
To catch the evanescent image fair. 



The Artisfs Search for Beauty, 43 

Again, in wholesome toil, the days passed by. 

Each touch rewarding all the sculptor's care. 

The wondrous beauty glowing in his soul 

He wrought upon the statue's face, and yet 

Its eyes, reproachful, sad, were bent on him 

With just the look the midnight vision wore. 

With finest touch and nicest care he strove 

To change this imperfection, yet in vain, 

Until at length, discouraged, sick at heart, 

By sad spell haunted, he a veil threw o'er 

Its features, glad to hide them from his sight. 

Turning away, he heard Teresa's voice 

And saw the smiling infant on her arm. 

The passing months had worked with subtle charm. 

With dimpled hands outstretched, the little one 

Asked for caressing ; and Francesco saw 

In its fair features, crowned with golden rings, 

And in its violet eyes, sweet, tender looks 

Of Angela ; and now, at length, he knew 

A beauty he had missed, and day by day 

New charms unfolded. Now, the daily toil 

Was crowned with frolic, and the sculptor felt 

New ardor and incentive for his work. 

Filled with deep shame for all his past neglect, 



44 The Artisfs Search for Beauty. 

He strove, each day, to make the infant glad, 
And, for such sweet possession, life itself 
Must be ennobled. So the years rolled on, 
Till one bright day, Francesco, from his toil. 
Paused, for an instant, since the playful child, 
In frolic mood, had torn the statue's veil ; 
And, gladdened by the beauty thus revealed. 
His eyes the likeness of his mother wore, 
The look the marble never had expressed. 
With gentle touches, then, Francesco's hand 
Guided the chisel, while, with eager haste, 
The fleeting semblance sought he to imprint 
Upon the statue fair, and soon its eyes 
Beamed soft on him with hope and tenderness, 
Vision of Angela and Italy, 
Embodiment complete of all his thought. 
And oft, a happy presence, with soft eyes, 
No more reproachful, nor with sad tears stained. 
Seemed, in communion sweet, to dwell with him, 



Galatea. 45 



GALATEA. 

Cold, sculptured form, with downcast eye and face, 

Whose quiet calm no throb of life doth know, 

Sealed in thy marble stillness thou dost show 

No light of joy nor sorrow's darker trace. 

Till, warmed by love, from pedestal's high place, 

Thou steppest to Pygmalion's side below, 

A peerless woman, rosy in the glow 

Of wondrous beauty and surpassing grace ; 

Thy gentle spirit, innocent of art, 

Meeteth rude welcoming from baser minds. 

And greetings harsh at length are thine alone. 

So, wounded, like the stricken fawn, thy heart 

Its fairest dreams unreal illusions finds, 

And, chilled, for refuge, turns again to stone ! 



46 In Memoriam, 



IN MEMOEIAM. 

Okce more we see the old, familiar place : 
Once more we turn remembered forms to greet. 
With clasp of hand, face looking into face, 
Rejoice again communing here to meet. 

But list ! a silence f alleth on us all ; 
Within our midst a vacancy is there : 
A darkness gathers like a funeral pall, 
Around the table, with its empty chair. 

A slight, draped form, a sweet and thoughtful face, 
So white and still, with crown of golden hair. 
With gentle speech, with woman's tender grace, — 
How oft we've seen her by the table there ! 

Faithful she was, aiid ready aye to serve, 
By pen and voice, by friendly word and true : 
No critic harsh ; ijor ever did she swerve 
From kindest courtesy to others due. 



In Memoriam. 47 

True friends she found within this circle here. 
When she a stranger to this city came. 
Friends that she vahied, friends both true and dear, 
Now wipe the tear-drops when they speak her name. 

How we shall miss her ! yet forevermore 
Shall dear remembrances with us abide 
Of kindly words, sweet ways, and golden store 
Of thoughts refined and vision clear and wide. 
Not to herseH she lived when by our side, 
Not to herself in dying hath she died ! 

(November, 1885. Mrs. M. C. F. Godfrey.) 



48 To Mrs, E, T. Brockway, 



TO MKS. E. T. BEOCKWAY, 

PRESIDENT OF THE BEOOKLYN WOMAn's CLUB. 

April, moath of smiles and tears, 
Briglit witli hope or dark with fears. 
Bring but fairest skies to-day, 
Chase thy clouds and gloom away. 
Thou, oh Muse, inspire my lay ! 
Womanhood to Woman brings 
Thanks and loyal offerings. 

For our guest who served us long 
Bring the tribute of a song ! 
She who filled our honored place, 
Added to it beauty, grace, 
Crowns our board with her fair face. 
Honor to the gifts she lent, 
Honor to our President ! 

Strew her path to-day with flowers, 
Fading signs for fadeless hours : 



To Mrs. E, T. Brockway. 49 

She who long for us hath sought 
Woman's weal with woman's thought. 
Work with noblest meaning fraught,— 
She is here our guest to-day, 
Strew her path with flowers gay ! 
Honor to the gifts she lent, 
Honor to our President ! 

(Read at the luncheon tendered to Mrs. Brockway, on her re- 
tirement from office, April, 1886,) 



50 To Mrs, Wing, 



TO MES. WING, 



PRESIDENT OF THE BROOKLYN WOMAn's CLUB. 



Ere the light shall fade away. 
Ere the banquet hour shall pass. 
While, with cheer, we greet this day, 
Bring the toast and fill the glass ! 
Tribute find for womanhood, 
Earnest, thoughtful, sweet and good. 

Like a rich and gay parterre 
Filled with flowers of varied hue. 
Some so bright and some so rare. 
That to choose were hardly fair, 
Should we give to all their due, — 
Which to pluck I cannot tell 
Where so many please me well : — 
So, within our woman's realm. 
With a woman at the helm, 



To Mrs, Wing. 51 

Varied gifts of heart and mind, 
In its treasured wealth we find. 

While we linger, — ere we part. 
Let the thought be here exprest, 
Thought that dwells in every heart, 
Echo finds in every breast, — 
Thanks to her who here hath stood. 
Earnest, thoughtful, sweet and good. 
Crowned us with her womanhood ! 



(Read at the luncheou of the Brooklyn Woman's Club, April, 

1887.) 



$2 Faces. 



FACES. 

In the eye that lights to meet us, and the face that 

smiles to greet us. 
Are the shadow of the future and the impress of the 

past; 
And the cheek that, in its dawning, flushed as rosy as 

the morning. 
Shows the outline of its beauty as it [fades away at 

last. 



And the little children's faces, — 'mid their dimples 

are the traces 
Of the maiden's glowing beauty and of manhood's 

brow of care ; 
And the prophecy of gladness, and the shadow of the 

sadness, 
To the thoughtful eye that gazeth, are they lurking 

ever there. 



Faces. 53 



But the faces that are nearest, and the faces that are 
dearest. 

Are the true, the tender faces that our trust and lov- 
ing win : 

Then, when comes to them the shading, when the 
roses shall be fading. 

Like the vase, with light illumined, shall we see the 
soul within. 



54 Atmospheres. 



ATMOSPHERES. 

Low and heavy, cold and gray. 
Hang the clouds in drear November, 
While the wind, with sullen moan, 
Train of ills its undertone. 
Sweeps upon us from the east, 
Head and heart and flesh the prey 
To Pandora's woes. Dark day ! 
'Tis a day we shall remember. 

Winter comes, and northern wind 
Blows from coldest arctic places, — 
Lands where slender flowers pale 
Waft no fragrance on the gale. 
Pure and strong thy breath we find, 
Spirit of the frost and sleet. 
Only stout and stanch can meet 
Thy cold touch upon their faces. 

Sweet south wind, from land so fair, 
Balm of love and fragrance flinging. 



Atmospheres, 55 

Lurks no poison, chill, and death 
On thy soft and scented breath. 
All is harmony in thee, 
Wafted on thy laden air, 
Mingling with its perfumes rare, 
Joyous notes of birds are ringing. 

Brave west wind, yet gentle too, 
Thou, of all, art for my choosing. 
Wholesome is thy influence, 
In thy touch beneficence, 
Life and joy and strength are thine ! 
Thou art trusty, thou art true 
As thy heaven's expanse of blue, 
Charms of north and south winds fusing. 

Knowest thou not, oh friend who feels, 
Of the human atmosphere ? 
Hast thou, in its alien air, 
Felt depression, doubt, and care 
Chilling thee like eastern wind ? 
Subtle, still, it o'er thee steals, 
Bruises, irritates, nor heals. 
Tortures with distrust and fear» 



56 Atmospheres. 

Atmospheres thou, too, hast known, 

Like the icy wind from far. 

Those who have them, — strong are they, 

Yet of warmth impart no ray. 

Tender ruth, they know thee not ! 

For the weak who, stumbling, moan 

Ne'er, by shrift, to them atone. 

Pure they shine, hke heaven's bright star. 



Friend, my gentle friend, in thee 
Dwells the south wind's atmosphere. 
Doubt and care and vague unrest 
Find no place within my breast : 
Ne'er a haunting shade to mar 
Cometh between thee and me. 
All is sunlight, flooding, free. 
Looking in thine eyes so clear. 



Friend, like west wind, true and brave, 
Well for those who own thee nearest ; 
And, if any know thee not, 
Drear must be their earthly lot. 



Atmospheres. 57 

Never weakling thou, and yet 
Still so tender thou canst save 
Hope and courage from the grave. 
Gentle, strong, thou art the dearest ! 



58 When Spring-ttjne Cometh On, 



WHEN SPEING-TIME COMETH ON. 

When Spring-time cometh on,— - 
When the first wind-flower lifts its fragile head. 
And purple violets faintest perfume shed, 

And earth her robe shall don 
Of emerald velvet, sewn with dots of gold, 

Shall I thy face behold ? 

When Spring-time comes again, 
When fruit-trees deck themselves in bridal white, 
And bush and shrub with living bloom are bright, 

And the soft, gentle rain 
Ealls on the wold and droppeth in the mere, 

Wilt thou be here? 

When Autumn shall have sway. 
When golden-rod and purple aster show 
In beauty where the maples deepest glow 



When Spring-time Cometh On, 59 

And light with flame the way : — 
And barberries in coral shall appear, 
Wilt thou be near ? 



When Winter draweth nigh, 
And wraps his ermine o'er earth's clay-cold breast, 
And every tree in jewelled sheen is drest, 

If I for thee shall sigh, 
Shall I, in home's familiar, fire-lit place. 

Behold thy face ? 



Through change of seasons told. 
Through Spring, with elm-tree buds and tender green, 
Through lavish Summer's pageantry of scene, 

Through Autumn's red and gold. 
And Winter's frost and jewelled tracery, 
'Twere vain, oh Love, earth's fairest things to see 

Afar from thee ! 



Oh, Love, what guise soe'er 
Thou takest, and in whom thy dwelling-place, 



6o When Spring-time Cometh On. 

E'en be it form unlovely, fair thy face ! 

Oh, gift of heaven rare. 
Fairer than light of day, than all things fair, 

Thou art beyond compare ! 



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